Fireplay for Beginners
by hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: Down-on-her-luck mage Molly Hooper has been offered a job: the Queen's youngest son is missing, and someone needs to find him- Fast/ But can she and her partner Mary bring His Royal Highness back in one piece, or will they get themselves killed? Fantasy world AU
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer:_ This fanfiction is not written for profit and in infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Mizjoely, it-is-never-twins-watson I blame you both...

* * *

 **PREVIEW: IN WHICH OUR HEROES ENCOUNTER "A MINOR PROBLEM,"**

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Molly emerges from the inferno, coughing, sputtering. Dragging herself along on her hands and knees.

Behind her she can hear Mary swearing up a storm, tugging desperately at her horse's bridle and trying to lead the damn creature away as Deephelm Palace burns to the ground around her.

 _The lady knight is not, alas, being entirely successful in that endeavour_.

For Agra, being- like her mistress- entirely unresponsive to common sense, is digging her heels in, whinnying and pawing the ground so desperately that she's nearly wrenched herself out of Mary's grip. (She's also nearly wrenched Mary's arm out of its socket.)

The horse is rearing back on her hind legs, clearly about to make a break for it, and if she runs off then there goes Molly's lance, her shield. Her casting wand. Every trick and charm and weapon she has in her arsenal, every chance she has of defeating the dragon she was sent her here to vanquish-

 _And if that happens, well then she won't get paid, which is rather a problem._

(Of course, if that happens then poor little boffin Prince William will also remain the prisoner of Sherofax The Terrifying for another three years, which is also rather a problem, but Molly is really more concerned about the not being paid bit. She likes doing exotic things like eating. And having a roof over her head. And paying back the loathsome Viscount Magnus what she owes him so he won't send her beloved Aunt Martha back to the flesh house.

She's somewhat quirky, like that).

And at being the case, she thinks, she's not going to allow Agra to disappear off with her life's possessions, she doesn't care how bloody upset the horse is. She _may_ have somewhat underestimated how much damage her fire spell would do to the draughty, entirely wooden Deephelm Palace but that's no reason to let the entire day go tits up, now is it? No, of course not.

 _She is simply going to have to get the horse to calm down._

So she gets to her feet. Gingerly approaches the panicked animal. "Easy," she murmurs. "Easy, girl..." Holding her hands out in supplication she lets a flash- just a spark- of magic ignite between her palms and then sends it bobbing towards the shying horse.

The effect is instantaneous

For Agra immediately drops back onto four legs. Shakes her mane out and starts nuzzling her nose into Mary, whinnying in greeting. The little globule of magic melts into her coat and she kicks her hind legs out, sprightly as a new-born foal. Surprised by the abrupt movement- and probably weighed down because of her chainmail- Mary nearly slips in the mud, barely catching herself in time. The lady knight shoots Molly a stern look.

"You didn't see that," she tells her.

Molly can't hide her answering grin. "Can't imagine what you're talking about," she says innocently and Mary nods. Straightens her cloak and scabbard.

 _Agra's reins are still in her hand, thank Mab._

"Let's keep it that way, shall we?" she says and before Molly can argue she looks around, takes in the smoking ruin of what was once Deephelm Palace and shakes her head.

The look she throws Molly is sheepish.

"I fear the firespell was not a wise choice with which to illuminate the building," she says wryly. "I believe the phrase I'm looking for is _oops_."

Molly shakes her head. "I doubt asking me to do a firespell will ever be a wise choice, Mary," she points out. "After Min Hadyn, and Londresse, _and_ Dyflin, I should have learned my lesson and struck it from my repertoire- I've nobody but myself to blame for this."

And she shakes her head, looks around at the smoking husk which remains of the palace.

It looks so awful it's almost impressive- _And if that doesn't describe her life in a nutshell then nothing will._

It hits her then, the stress of the day. The exertion of it. With a tired sigh she scrapes her hair off her face with her free hand before approaching Agra and starting to fish through her saddle-bags.; After letting her feel around for a moment Mary takes pity on her. Reaches into her leather jerkin and pulls out the small flask of honey-whiskey the young dragon-slayer is looking for before handing it to her.

"Get some of that into you," she says.

With a grateful nod Molly takes it and puts it to her lips, surveying the wreck she's made of her target and reminding herself, forcefully, that things could be worse...

After all, she and Mary and Agra are still alive. Now that she thinks about it, the Palace had turned out to be miraculously free of life, something which, with her history of fire-related oopses she feels incredibly grateful for... Prince William was clearly not in the Palace- In fact, nobody appeared to have been in the palace except a massive, glittering hulk of leather and dragon-scales which she presumes was Sherofax, judging by his the wing-span she saw moments ago as he took to the air...

 _So yes,_ Molly tells herself forcefully _. Yes, things could have been worse. Much worse._

 _At least you can be reasonably certainly you haven't flambéed a member of the royal family..._

And it's just as she's thinking this- and other, similarly soothing thoughts- that she hears a pitiful little moan and her day goes from oops to completely bloody apocalyptic.

For to her right she hears coughing. Sees a shape appearing through the smoke. It too is on its hands and knees, crawling as she had.

It looks to be about the size and shape of a man.

With the skill of long practice she calls her casting wand to her from her saddlebag while Mary pulls out her sword. The other woman takes point and starts walking towards the newcomer, her broadsword held before her, her stiletto blade tucked nearly into her leather-bound fist. Molly lets a warning spark of magic dance along her wand's edge, the light of it illuminating her face and making her look mysterious. Powerful. Badarse.

Before he can get near them however- for this close she can see that the newcomer is male- the man drops to the ground. Lets out a pitiful little moan.

He mutters something which sounds suspiciously like, "Mummy is going to kill me..." And then he flops onto his back. Huffs out another breath. By the time she and Mary get to him he's no longer moving- In fact, he appears to have passed out.

With trepidation Molly approaches him and as she does she learns four facts about the newcomer:

Fact the First: He is heart-stoppingly handsome.

Fact the Second: He is entirely naked, save for a dusting, here and there, of magic and dragon-scales.

Fact the Third: Though he appears to be human, a pair of spindly, ragged leathern wings hang from his back, splaying out beneath him and making him look like nothing so much as a bat, caught on a carriage window-pane...

It is, however, Fact the Fourth- his identity- which causes her to stop and Mary to start swearing profusely.

For she recognises this man, would know him anywhere. She was after all, given his portrait by Lord James when she was dispatched here on her rescue mission. The man before her is Prince William, and judging by the wings on his back it would seem that his little stay with Sherofax the Terrifying may have been more complicated than either Molly or Mary were made privy to-

"He's got a nice arse, at least," Mary announces thoughtfully. "So, you know, there's that."

Molly would normally have agreed with her- pleasing male backsides being in rather short supply in her line of work- but she's too busy panicking about what to do next to appreciate her friend's fine taste in rear ends.


	2. Chapter One

_Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for their reviews go to Analena, likingthistoomuch, 16magnolias and my guest. Enjoy!_

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 **CHAPTER ONE, WHEREIN OUR HEROES EMBARK ON A MOST EXCELLENT ADVENTURE**

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 _Two Weeks Earlier_

"Fetch your cloak, Mols- I think we've scored."

And Molly turns to look at her (really rather drunken) best friend, Mary, askance.

Blinks groggily at her before looking in the direction which she has indicated.

The Wyld Stallyn Ale House spins dizzily as she does so, but the young mage manages to grip a table and keep a hold on her stomach-contents- Just about. When her eyes refocus she sees a beautiful dark-haired woman looking at her intently, her face half-covered with a head-scarf, her head covered in a raised hood.

The woman's skin is pale and flawless, the cut of her all-enveloping cloak impeccable; This is clearly a lady of means, and the attention of a lady of means can result in only one of two things, for Molly.

One, this is a rich young wife who wishes to engage a mage in some trifling- or not so trifling- magical task, for which she will pay handsomely.

Two, Molly and Mary's less than legal activities in the buying and selling of magical tasks have come to the attention of the authorities- Again.

 _Needless to say, Molly knows which of these possibilities she'd prefer._

On seeing that she has their attention, the young woman cocks her head invitingly towards both Molly and Mary, suggesting that they should follow her outside. Ever the danger fiend, Mary grins and gets to her feet with sprightly ease, despite her drunkenness. (The idea of a job or a tussle or both never fails to make her cheerful.

The fact that she's clearly taken a shine to their mystery fan also probably plays a part.)

Less sanguine- and painfully aware that she's in no fit state to flee should this all turn sideways- Molly gets to her feet and follows her partner. _This could, after all, merely be a much-needed job._ The room sways slightly as she does so, but nevertheless she makes the effort. She just hopes it was the pair of them the woman was trying to summon, and not just Mary, something which has, mortifyingly, happened before. Through long practice, her drink-muffled mind nevertheless catelogues every exit from the establishment as she passes it, the adrenaline needed for flight already beginning to flutter through her veins.

Magic sparks at her fingertips, much as she tries to control it.

Before she can completely tamp it down though, she's outside, the cold snatching against her skin and immediately making her shiver-

"Stop. Right. There."

The voice is feminine and comes from her right.

As soon as it sounds Molly feels a blade dig lightly into her shoulder-blades, the jab too soft to damage the heavy leather jerkin she's wearing.

 _A warning then, so._

Holding her hands out to show she means no harm, Molly turns slowly to see another, dark-haired woman standing beside her. Like the woman Mary and she followed out, this one has covered her face and hair. Tall and imposing, she too boasts the flawless skin and expensive clothing of a lady of means.

It makes the dark glower she's wearing seem all the more contrary.

There's a puff of exasperation from behind her and suddenly the woman who invited them out strides into Molly's line of vision, rolling her eyes. "For Mab's sake, Thea," she snaps. "This is supposed to be a friendly conversation, not a bloody kidnapping."

The woman with the knife- _Thea, apparently-_ glares at her accomplice. "She was gearing up, Jeanne," she says sharply. "I could see the magic from where I was standing-"

Again Jeann rolls her eyes. "She's an unregistered mage, and she's just been invited down a dark alley by a stranger," the woman points out sensibly. "Of course she was gearing up."

Her accent contains a lilting trace of Dyflin, which is surprising, Molly can't help but think.

Dyflin- and indeed, all of Erihu- is not exactly on the best of terms with the Queen's Council in Londres, these days. Erihan mercenaries- of which this Jeanne is no doubt one- are therefore an unusual sight in the capital.

Their absence has meant an open field of employment for Mary, at least. _And speaking of-_

As if summoned by the possibility of mayhem- _and isn't that just her friend to a t?_ \- Mary stumbles out from behind the same wall that had hidden Jeanne. Her hair is slightly tousled and her lips look bee-stung- As if they had recently been kissed.

 _In fairness, they probably have just been._

She grins at Jeanne, causing the other woman to smile and her companion Thea to glare- "Seriously?" she snaps. "You couldn't wait until we got them back to base?"

Jeanne shakes her head- "Nah,"- and Mary grins. Struts up to her and pressing an impressive kiss to her lips before turning back to Thea.

When she sees the knife Thea has pressed at Molly's back her eyes narrow, hands going to the blade at her belt. Before she can grasp it however Jeanne gives her companion a quick shake of her head. The woman steps away from Molly, removing the blade.

She looks disgruntled at having to do so.

"You alright, Mols?" Mary asks, and despite the lightness of her tone, Molly can hear steel beneath it.

"Somewhat," the young mage says, stepping more fully away from her attacker and towards her friend.

Jeanne treats this action with another roll of her eyes.

"Sorry about that," she says, trying to keep her voice friendly. (Molly isn't buying it, however). "We're not usually this surly-"

"Speak for yourself," Thea mutters.

"-But we have a situation we think you ladies might be able to help us with." She reaches into her glove, takes out a single gold galleon and hands it to Molly.

The purity of the metal, as well as its weight, makes her hand tingle, her magic automatically reaching out for something so fine.

Mary notes this with interest- After all, she knows what it means.

"There's more where that came from," Jeanne is saying. "A lot more. But if you're interested in getting it then I'm afraid you'll have to come with us."

Molly's eyes narrow. She can hear the dishonesty in the woman's words. With her magic this near the surface complication or prevarication of any kind will be very easy to spot, and judging by the look on Jeanne's face, she's realised her mistake.

Mary's hand shifts once again to the blade at her belt and, almost in synchronicity, Thea's hand follows suit.

Before a fight can break out however, Jeanne holds her hand up in in surrender. "Secrecy is something this job will require," she says. "I have to withhold some information, given the details, but you have my word that I mean neither you nor your partner any harm."

Still flickering about the pure gold galleon, Molly's magic hisses playfully, communicating its satisfaction. Jeanne has, to the best of her ability, pronounced a pure, unvarnished statement. Given the fact that she and her companion are also still armed, Molly muses, that will have to do. _And yet…_

"What if we don't want to accept your kind offer?" she asks, because really this job already sounds like a lot more trouble than it's worth.

Thea's smile grows sharper, something Molly likes not one jot.

"Then they'll try to kill us, Mols," Mary supplies cheerfully, easing towards her partner, "and make it look like an accident. Either that or try some sort of bond-magic on us which will prevent us from speaking of this- Isn't that so?"

She smiles sweetly at Jeanne but it's Thea who answers.

"In short," she says. "Yes."

Her tone implies this will be no hardship for her.

Jeanne hastens to speak over her. "Of course, we'd rather it didn't come to that. We'd rather you let us pay you tonnes of gold for a rather simple job, wouldn't we?"

Despite possessing not a spark of interest in this eventuality, Thea manages a sharp nod.

Mary blows her a kiss and her gaze turns stony.

"Well then," Mary says, "given how kindly you've offered, and the fact that I'd rather not die or be subjected to a painful, morally abhorrent magical invasion, I suggest my friend and I take you up on your kind offer." She looks at Molly. "Are we in agreement, friend?"

Molly stares at her. Tries to reason through her possible motivations. The threat of death or magic is strong, yes, but normally Mary's first impulse is to fight. She doesn't like being told what to do- So why is she eager now?

And then her eye is drawn to the hilt of Thea's dagger. Like Jeanne's, it's carved from blue griffin bone, the signature material from which all royal weapons are made.

 _These women are here on behalf of the crown._

Her eyes meet Mary's and she sees confirmation there: her friend noticed before she did, and she wants to know why two palace operatives might have come to find her when she's been trying so hard to keep away from them for years. When she'd sworn, long ago to never take another order from a King or Queen again. That being the case, Molly supposes she can go along with her friend, offer a helping hand as she finds out more about how the crown tracked her down- As well as what she can do to get them to leave her alone again.

"Yes, let's take them up on their offer, friend," she says and Jeanne, Thea and Mary all smile.

The effect is slightly terrifying.

Jeanne takes a small silver whistle from around her neck, puts it to her lips and blows. A few seconds later a driverless carriage- of the kind favoured by the Queen's Intelligencers- skids into place at her side.

She opens the door, gestures to Molly and Mary, inviting them inside.

They settle themselves in, their weapons (discretely) at the ready.

Jeanne gets in the back with them whilst Thea climbs up onto the empty coachman's seat and, with a sudden hiss of magic and dust, they take off at a fearsome pace.


	3. Chapter Two

_Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for their reviews go to Mychakk, Analena and Lila-Me. Enjoy!_

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 **CHAPTER TWO, IN WHICH OUR HEROES MAKE NO FRIENDS AND IRRITATE PEOPLE**

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 _An Hour Later_

Pinnacle Castle is famous all over the Five Kingdoms, and rightfully so.

Standing high above the headland at Fraen, a mere hour's ride outside the capital of Londresse, this needle of stone and glass was created by Mathilda The Magnificent from the last of the Old, High Magic which her family possessed.

Legend says that the effort of it finally killed her, leaving her young husbands Nathaniel and Idris to mourn her.

 _Legend also says that few who go through its doors without granting their summoners' wishes will come out again._

It is with this in mind that Molly warily exits the horseless carriage, Mary at her elbow and both Thea and Jeanne bringing up the rear. She stares up at the ancient edifice, feels the thrum of magic which it exudes. This far outside the city its pull is painfully obvious. The Mathildes family are no longer known as spellcasters; the current Queen, Alexandra, is far better known as a mathematician and alchemist than as a magician.

Still, in this building Molly muses, it would be near impossible to not have some magic at your disposal. It would seep into your bones, she fancies, in much the same way nutrients seep into a tree through its roots…

"You alright?" she hears Mary ask, sotto voce, and she nods distractedly.

"It's…" She shakes her head, tries to summon an equivalent to what she's feeling that her friend would understand. The press of the Pinnacle's magic is making her head feel like it's stuffed with ribbons.

"It's a little overwhelming," she settles on, and to her surprise Mary shoots her a tight-lipped, sharp smile.

"First time through the gates of this place always is," she says, just loudly enough to be heard by their escorts. "You'll adjust."

Thea glowers at her and Jeanne snorts in amusement.

This doesn't seem to help Thea's temperament _at all._

A light in her eyes, Mary blows Thea a kiss and both Molly and Jeanne roll their eyes at the same time, amusement making the Erihan woman's lips curl into a smile. By this time they've reached the front door, and Thea steps to the fore. She moves into position directly in front of the door knocker, a fierce-looking metal figurine of a griffin.

The knocker's mouth moves, eyes lighting up with flickering blue flame.

"Have you solved it?" it asks Thea, its voice deep and booming. Sonorous.

The mercenary nods.

"How closely?" the door knocker intones.

"To within three decimal points, Sir," Thea answers, and the metallic mouth curves into a grin.

"Do tell!" it practically growls, clearly pleased, and Thea leans in, whispers a series of numbers conspiratorially while it manages to give every impression of nodding along enthusiastically.

"I say, that's rather clever!" the door knocker says when she's finished, causing Thea to flush in pleasure and- to Molly and Mary's mutual astonishment- smile.

"May we then pass, Sir?" she asks, and as if in answer Molly hears the click and grind of pins moving into place.

There's a sharp snick and then the door swings slowly opening, revealing a dimly-lit hall beyond.

With a sharp jab to their shoulders, Molly and Mary are ushered inside. The temperature is decidedly chill, the walls bare and unpainted, and it occurs to Molly that- That they're in the larder. Of course they're being led in through the larder.

 _They have literally been sneaked in through the servants' entrance_.

Molly's certain she's correct: There are barrels and meat hooks hanging from the ceiling, some festooned with salted carcasses, hung and left to cure for the winter. A massive tank runs one length of the room, and in it she can see fish of varying colours and degrees of exoticness darting about. Another wall is given over to shelves of eggs, most brown or white, some blue, or red, or even quartz (she can hear the creatures within moving restlessly).

"This way," Jeanne intones before Molly can investigate more (and, honestly, attempt to steal something to eat for her supper. She's starving).

She and Mary are led silently through to a servants' staircase and then begin their ascent, the narrowness of the way making even Mary uneasy.

Thea leads whilst Jeanne takes up the rear, meaning that she and Mary are forced to keep up the punishing pace the two other women set.

Servants' stairs are not designed for comfort, and this one proves to be no exception. However, within a few minutes of breathing heavily Molly finds herself pushed out into a cosy, if opulently decorated room. A table lined with food and wine is set out before a roaring fire, the blue tint to the flames telling Molly that it's a Telling Flame.

Whatever else she and Mary may try, with a Telling Flame in attendance they will be utterly unable to lie, any more than their guests may be.

 _This simultaneously makes Molly feel both reassured and somehow more nervous._

"Sit," Thea says brusquely, gesturing to one of the silk-covered chairs before the flames. She glowers at Mary. "Try not to get anything dirty," she sniffs, to which Mary answers with a jauntily sarcastic wave and an "Aye Aye, Cap!"

This is followed by her sticking out her tongue.

As Thea slips out of the room Mary plonks herself down on the nearest chair and sets to taking off her travel-muddied boots, delightedly shaking clots of muck onto the highly-polished floor and carpet before setting them on the silk-covered chair beside her. They leave two filthy, muddy shoe-prints thereon.

Jeanne laughs. "You're a wee terror, aren't you?" she says, to which Mary proudly nods.

"Glad you noticed." She gestured to the food. "For us?" When Jeanne nods again she clucks her tongue. "And it's safe to eat?" she asks, to which the Erihan woman rolls her eyes and moves to walk into the light cast by the Telling Flame.

She speaks the usual caveat with the speed of familiarity- and hunger.

"You have my word that nothing here will harm you," she intones, "and that nothing you partake of as a guest will cause you to be obliged to me or mine. _May Mab strike me down if it be not so_."

That said she takes a seat beside Mary and starts digging into the food, nodding to Mary and Molly to do the same. In truth, neither has eaten so well in weeks and so the mixture of meat-cakes, dumplings and port is gratefully accepted. There's even a basket of honey-jays for dessert.

Molly's endeavouring to spirit several of the honey-jays off the table and into her travelling bag- _a small Calling Spell should do it_ \- when the main door to the room opens and two well-dressed men come in, followed closely by Thea. The first is tall and gangly, leaning towards the tubby. He has dark ginger hair and a hawlike profile, his dark eyes coming to settle on Mary with surprising force.

She waves brightly- "Hello there, Your Grace!" - and he visibly shudders. So does Thea.

It occurs to Molly- given this title- that this man must be The Duke of Sherrinford, Prince Mycroft.

To the best of her knowledge, he is both the Queen's eldest son and her finest Intelligencer.

The other man is small and compact, his fair skin and dark hair lending him a wintry aspect. Judging by her reaction Mary _doesn't_ know him- _Which might be just as well._ His eyes seem like coals amid the paleness of his face and even from where she's sitting, Molly can feel the magical ability coming off him in waves. It's potent. Intense. Raking and forceful. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, something she hasn't experienced in years-

This man is a predator, she has no doubt of it.

 _Which begs the question- Just who here is his prey?_

Suppressing a shiver, Molly turns back to the scene before her. "Hello darling," he coos to Jeanne and she rolls her eyes.

"Cousin dearest," she retorts and he makes a show of clicking his tongue in disappointment.

When he tries to sit down beside her she makes no effort to give him room; with a small pout he therefore turns and places himself on the chair nearest to the Telling Flame, his coal-like eyes coming to rest on Mary and, thence, on Molly.

As soon as he looks at her, she feels her pulse stutter, and the young mage must fight the urge to babble.

 _Mortifyingly, it's not any magic of his which is having that effect on her, and judging by the sly grin on her face, her friend knows it._

"So," Mary begins, gesturing to the last remaining seat within the Telling Flame's radius and inviting Duke Mycroft to sit down. "You sent your girls to come get us," Mary says. "If I ask why straight out will you tell me, or are you going to try and be clever?"

Mycroft winces and rolls his eyes heavenward, seemingly praying for patience. From her place behind his chair Thea glares.

"I see five years on the other side have done nothing to improve your manners, Morstan." When he speaks it's the same voice which the door knocker below used. "I had rather hoped you would be more cooperative-"

Mary narrows her eyes. "I'm plenty cooperative, Your Grace," she says evenly. "Always know when to hold my peace, all that time in the Queen's Guard taught me that. But I also know you, so let's not beat around the bush- "

She leans forward. Smiles sharply. "What do you want, Your Grace?"

The Telling Flame hisses and sparks, the bluntness of Mary's question feeding it.

Mycroft throws his male companion a sharp look - "James, if you please," - and nods. Takes a goblet of wine from the table though he does not sip.

The shorter man- James, apparently- reaches into his doublet and takes out a locket, about the height and width of Molly's thumb. He pops it open and hands it to the young mage, gesturing for her to pass it to Mary. Inside there's a painting of a handsome, dark-haired young man with a scowling expression and a headful of leonine curls.

His gaze is curiously… imperious. Arresting.

"That's the Queen's youngest," James says wryly. His accent contains the same trace of Dyfflin that Jeanne's does. "Master Will. He left Londresse on a quest of study a twelve-month ago and hasn't been heard from since." The smaller man shrugs. Smirks. "Personally I think he's off sowing his wild oats somewhere, but Her Majesty begs to differ."

Mycroft sighs. "That she does. Repeatedly."

Almost unseen, Thea gives Mycroft's shoulder a tiny squeeze before straightening her posture once more.

She glares at the room in general, daring them to say anything, and both Molly and Mary wisely elect to keep their mouths shut.

"Two weeks ago word reached us from an operative who had been travelling with Prince William," James continues, as if nothing had happened. "This operative claims that Will ran off and abandoned his studies in order to become apprenticed to Saladrax The Wise.

"We've asked the Drakongamot whether this is so, but Saladrax swears she hasn't seen our little princeling. She even sent her husband Gregory to put our minds at rest. Other inquiries were made in light of this, and information has come to us which suggests that Prince William is, in fact, ensconced in Deephelm Palace-"

"But that's where Sherofax keeps his lair," Mary says, sitting up suddenly.

She and Molly exchange glances- Sherofax's viciousness and cruelty are well known.

 _Such a trip would be suicidal_.

James' smile is rapier sharp. "Young Master William is rather impressed with his own intelligence," he says gloatingly.

Mycroft throws him a chastening smile and he manages to rein his grin in somewhat.

"It is entirely possible that Will was persuaded to try and reason with the creature," he continues, "or even that he thought to persuade it to teach him its secrets- Dragons have taken on human apprentices before, and everyone knows Sherofax is tail-deep in treasure and magic. If persuaded he could become a powerful ally-"

"-Or Prince William could have become a delicious entree," Mary interrupts.

Again James shrugs. "Perhaps," he allows. His tone does not suggest he considers this a pity. "Unfortunately, however, his good Lady Mother doesn't see it that way. She's demanding proof of her child's fate, and she's demanding it now-"

"Which is why you two are here."

And Duke Mycroft takes a quick sip of his wine, sets it back on the table. He puts his hand and takes a card out of his doublet, sets it on the counter.

A flick of his hand and magic dances across its surface, the plain Three of Axes disappearing, to be replaced by a map of the territory around Sherofax's lair.

Mycroft's face is grim.

"A small group, armed with magic and intelligence, might be able to make their way to Deephelp Palace undetected," he says quietly, looking very hard at Mary and Molly.

Another flick of his fingers and a route appears on the map, highlighting a zigzag pattern through the Singing Mountains and into Sherofax's lair at Shera Brae.

It is passable by horse- but only just.

"A frontal attack will rouse the creature and send it skywards," he continues. "We have no desire to do so, not when there are so many civilian settlements along the border between Shera Brae and Shura-"

"And not with Shura getting ready to side with Erigal, should it come to it," Mary adds.

Neither Mycroft, Thea nor Jeanne look pleased at this, but none of them deny it.

"Indeed," the Duke says instead. "Times of conflict can lead to desperate measures. We want you to take this route and find my brother. Bring him back. Personally, I don't care if you have to knock him unconscious and haul him to us in a sack, I want him out of there now-"

"And what's in this for us?" Mary asks.

A wintry smile teases Mycroft's lips. "Your loyalty to Queen and Country will be proved?"

Mary crosses her arms. "Try again."

With an insouciant shrug, Duke Mycroft gestures to his playing-card map. This time the image shimmers and then disappears, to be replaced by the fact of an older woman. Pretty, dark-haired and very familiar, the sight of her makes Molly gasp.

"Aunt Martha," she exclaims, and Mycroft smiles at her.

"Ah yes," he says. "Mistress Hudson, proprietor of the Baker's Dozen Flesh-House, currently in Debtors' Goal for her dealings with Count Magnus." Again he shrugs. "I suppose I could be persuaded to intervene in her case…"

"Oh, you'll intervene," Mary says tartly, getting to her feet. "You'll intervene, and you'll pay us handsomely on top of it."

Mycroft's expression is maddening. "Why, prey tell?"

Mary leans into him, her eyes narrowed. A look flashes between Jeanne and Thea and both of them reach for their weapons; in preparation, Molly fires up her magic, lets it dance along her fingertips.

From the corner of her eye she sees James expression flicker from boredom to interest before he masks it again.

For some reason, this makes Molly feel rather… ill at ease.

"You'll pay," Mary's saying, "because we both know Molly and I are amongst the only people in the world who could pull this job off.

"You'll pay because we both know you're only coming to us because you're looking for someone who won't scream "Queen's Guard," if they're picked up by the Shuran clans along the border.

"But most of all, you'll pay because if you think I'm risking my neck, and my friends, for your sorting out a legal tangle you should have bloody sorted out anyway then you have another thing coming-"

And she picks up the playing card, causing the image of Aunt Martha to disappear. Tosses it to Molly, who catches it easily.

"Set down our price on that, Mols," she says. "And then have the Duke here sign it- I'm sure he's more than aware of how little choice he has."

Molly picks the largest figure she can think of and doubles it.

It appears on the card and, with a martyred sigh, Duke Mycroft nods. Presses his hand to the paper and agrees to be bound by it.

Molly feels the hiss of his magical press against her own as he seals the deal...

* * *

Two days later, she and Mary are on their way to Shera Brae- Which is when the trouble really begins.


End file.
